my experience obtaining a Furuta Giant fountain pen
A few things coincided in my life recently, including a trip to Japan and a big personal achievement, which is basically summed up as an exceptionally fortunate step into proper adulthood.
I decided that now was a good time to hunt down something really exclusive. No parts-bin Sailors or gradient Decimos. And nothing that I could get with a forwarding service. This post will focus on the story of that acquisition, rather than reviewing the pen itself.
In my fountain pen journey, my interests have become pretty narrow. I want things that are refined and of a superlative reputation. It also needs to be something I'll get lots of use from. It's not a rigid requirement, but it's the guiding principle of my collection. I still buy into limited edition hype, but it has to be really special, like the Platinum 3776 Kumpoo or the Bungubox Fujiyama Blue Pilot 823.
I eventually stumbled into a small niche of high-end, artisan pen makers, particularly those producing giant pens with giant nibs and crediting their training to someone named Kohei Kubo, who had a brilliantly long and impressive career working with nibs and pens. I knew of Tohma pens, but his waiting list was two years out. But through this research I discovered Kubo’s direct apprentice, Seigo Furuta.
In the words of another fountain pen collector, Furuta is a “real samurai type”. He’s spent most of his life serving in the JSDF, and apparently he even came to the US and earned a Green Beret qualification (or something like it) through an exchange program. He’s kept the same discipline in his hobbies, pursuing everything from ultra marathons to beekeeping. Nearly two decades ago, he started making fountain pens and studying nib making under Kubo. A few years ago, he retired from the JSDF and opened his own workshop, assisting his master in earnest. He makes nibs with the same tools and techniques as his master, even using Kubo’s initials to stamp them. He’s articulate, focused, well-traveled, and extremely hospitable.
These days, Furuta has a website that enables direct orders from overseas. It’s a bit messy, but it has plenty of information for your reading pleasure. I filled out the contact form, and we began emailing back and forth. He offered me my choice of nib size, nib shape, filling system, and body material. Naturally, I chose the giant size nib, the Kubo original shape (long tines), a Japanese eyedropper barrel, and an ao-tamenuri finish applied by Koichiro Okazaki (AKA Kogaku). Furuta has offered his pens in red and yellow tamenuri finishes, but my pen is part of his first production batch with blue tamenuri.
The website stipulated that a workshop visit must be arranged to receive one’s pen, and so I did. I looked forward to meeting Furuta and hopefully Kubo as well. However, between the time of my order and my workshop visit, Kubo passed away at the age of 95. Furuta has now moved into his workshop and stewards his legacy. The fountain pen industry certainly owes him a great debt.
The day finally came, and I found myself crossing the Arakawa river into a quiet residential area with my family in tow. Furuta met us at the door of the garage-sized space.
The inside of the workshop was densely packed. Machines, materials, and tools were scattered everywhere – and yet everything seemed to have its place. It was the kind of place I could have rummaged around in for hours.
I sat down in the corner, and Furuta presented me with my new pen. He walked me through its use and maintenance and performed some final checks to ensure it was in perfect working order. I picked a pen sleeve to pair with it, which was made by Furuta’s wife, and then he packaged the items in a simple softwood box.
My family and I took some time to converse with Furuta, learning about his time in the JSDF and his overseas deployments. I took plenty of pictures of his tools and machines, and he patiently answered all my questions. He walked me through the process of creating a nib, pointing out each workstation in turn. I was particularly surprised by his welder, which was apparently unmodified and simply manufactured for an extremely small market. And of course, the crown jewel of the setup seemed to me to be his slitting machine. I could see the stress on Furuta’s face when he mentioned the difficulty of slitting.
Naturally, I was also curious about his nib grinding setup. It’s quite simple: a transverse shaft sticking out of a large motor. The abrasives appear to be a selection of silicon carbide stones, impregnated rubber wheels, and chromium oxide paste on a gauze-like band.
I mentioned that I was learning nib grinding and showed Furuta some of my work. In response, he gifted me two grinding stones from Kubo’s old stash. I have no way to mount them right now, but I’ll figure something out.
A few other interesting things I saw include: a TWSBI 580 modified into a giant converter, a small jar of Heraeus tipping alloy and an even smaller jar of Japanese make, an eclectic collection of artisan Japanese pens, and one of the last Kubo nibs on the planet. I even brought up traditional shaving, and Furuta surprisingly had a small collection of kamisori (Japanese-style straight razors). I also asked him if he would take on an apprentice now that Kubo had passed, but he said he won’t consider it for several more years.
After answering all my questions, it was time to leave, so we gathered our things. On our way out, Furuta also gifted me a small lacquer box. It’s NOS from the 1970s from a local antiques dealer, judging by the paper insert. It isn’t high art, but it’s pretty and in absolutely pristine condition.
Furuta insisted on walking us to the train station, which was helpful since we were still learning to navigate the city. He even emailed later to make sure we had taken the right train. Visiting his workshop was easily the highlight of the trip, both for me and my family.
My commentary on the rest of my time in Japan can be viewed on my Instagram story highlights and on Reddit. Thanks for reading.
